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dinner and a bottle of Burgundy, I felt soft-hearted
about almost everything. The large dining-room was
full of London Clubmen dressed as Colonels, Majors,
and Captains with a conscientious objection to physi-
cal discomfort. But, after all, somebody had to be at
the Base; modern warfare offered a niche for everyone,
and many of them looked better qualified for a card-
table than a military campaign. They were as much
the victims of circumstances as the unfortunate troops
in the trenches. Puffing a cigar, I decided that there
was a tolerant view to be taken about almost every-
body, especially after a good dinner at the Hotel de
la Poste.

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